Red
by scarlet tribe
Summary: Red shoes, red lips, red hair. This woman, an old friend of Sherlock, oozes confidence and strength. But after helping on a case, a storm rolls in with Moriarty at the head and Ophelia is in the middle. This strong woman is brought to her knees. Does she beg for mercy? or does she fight to get back on her feet. Not sure what to think so tell me.
1. Chapter 1 red silk robe

John followed Sherlock into what looked on the outside to be a trashy strip club, but once inside it was quite different. Inside was a very upscale…_something._ John wasn't sure what it was. A burlesque lounge was the best description.

Sherlock and John were seated quickly by a lanky woman in impossibly high heels and impossibly tighter black slacks that accentuated the sway of her hips and John had trouble looking away. Sherlock seemed uncharacteristicly relaxed as he sat and leaned back into the chair, crossing his legs as if he owned the place. The seats were leather and extremely comfortable and a small table sat between the two, separating them. On the table held a small lamp that had a blacklight in it. The ambiance was dark, relaxing.

Sherlock thanked the woman that brought them small glasses of alcohol. He slipped her a piece of paper. She read it with a confused look but nodded.

"As soon as possible, but I am afraid she has a show. You are more than welcome to wait until she is finished. Only one song for her now." The hostess offered. Sherlock smiled a charming smile.

"oh really, is she getting too old?" He asked, flirtatiously. _Since when does Sherlock flirt?!_ John thought to himself. The woman laughed and swatted at his arm.

"No, no. She took over the club after Nicholi retired. She has to run it now." Sherlock hmmed in response and the hostess walked away.

"Well, make yourself comfortable John. This will take a few moments." A few minutes later he added. "What are your questions?" he added with a sigh.

"What the hell are we doing here? And Where is _here?_ What can this possibly have to do with the case?" John asked, leaning in his chair towards his friend.

"Obviously we are here for the case. The girls are most likely being abducted to be sold into prostitution. AN old acquaintance of mine will be able to assist us if there is prostitution involved."

"Wait, you mean, shes-"

"Oh for god's sake. No she is not involved directly."

"Directly?!"

"Oh do shut up. She merely has information that could rival Mycroft's. Infact, I believe she now knows more especialy in the non legal fields." Sherlock sipped the drink he had been given. John leaned back and drank.

He took in his surroundings. The "stage" looked like several catwalks that extended into bars. There were stools so men and women could sit as close as they could to where the performers would walk. Music began to play and lights dimmed. Dancers began to fill the catwalks. They were gorgeous women who managed to capture the attention of everyone. John glanced at his frined who held a small smile on his mouth as he watched the performers, eyes scanning, deducing.

Then a voice, smooth and seductive sang over the loud music. Dry ice had formed a smoke over the entrance where the dancers had origionally emerged from and a small, feminine figured slowly exited. She belonged to the voice that was flowing through the air.

If the other women were gorgeous, this woman was a goddess. John's mouth almost fell open. She had red hair that fell in loose curls past her shoulders. She had a tight black skirt that was a few inches above her knee, a red, form fitting top with black lace over it. Her make up was classy and sexy. She had on very sexy shoes. Red pumps with a thin black heel. Her hair yas styled so it was parted to the side and finished he look. Very much like Jessica Rabbit, john mused.

She sauntered down the runways, singing, swinging her hips, driving the veiwers crazy.

At one point, she had stopped at the end of the catwalk right infront of them. She sat and crossed her legs but rested her foot on Sherlock's shoulder and batted her eyelashes. John's mouth actually fell open as Sherlock brought up a hand to the outside of her ankle and turned to kiss the inside of the ankle with a smirk. John's heart almost stopped. Never had he seen Sherlock so comfortable, touchy even. He almost missed the slip of paper he placed in her shoe. This lessened a bit of the shock.

But his mouth was still open. The woman threw her head back with a laugh but caught the shock of John's face. He saw a gleam is playfulness flas in her eyes. The smirk was blatant and John was sure her next action was to fluster him.

It worked.

The singer slid off the catwalk and sauntered over to John before gracefully placing herself in his lap. She drapped her legs over the arm of the chair and hooked a finger into the collar of his shirt and brought him _very _close to her face.

John was frozen.

She let out a semi-squeal of pleasure before she removed herself from John, kept singing and with the help of two very muscular men (most likely bouncers) got back on the catwalk.

John tried to control his breathing. Before he knew it, the song was over and she was gone. There was such a loud applause and John turned to Sherlock.

"Who was that?" He breathed.

"Old acquaintance. Time to go." Sherlock stated, rising quickly from his seat and John tried to keep up. Manuvering through the room, filled with people and tables, he almost lost Sherlock.

After passing bouncers, the two made their way down a dimly it hallway until they stopped at a black door. Sherlock paused and turned to his shorter friend.

"You may want to stay behind me." John nodded, slightly confused and Sherlock turned to the door, smiling and swinging it open.

"Ophelia" He drawled pleasantly and stepped forward but the door was slammed back in his face. He stumbled into John and his hand flew to his nose.

"Dammit, Sherlock! Knock for once in your life! I happen to be changing!" Ophelia's voice sounded through the door.

"It's not as if it isn't anything I have seen before." He said casually and John looked at Sherlock so fast he cracked his neck. "Oh please, John. Ophelia, open the door." There was a frustrated sigh and the door flung open. The woman they were addressing was the singer yes, but her hair was a mess and in a quick messy braid that fell over her shoulder. She wore a black silky dressing gown that went to mid thigh.

"By all means, come in!" She said as she turned and tossed a small stool out of the way. Fabrics and the stool fell to the floor, adding to the clutter. Her dresser, table, and beauty station was covered in vases and bouquets of roses. Red and pink. Ophelia plopped down on a day bed, stretching her legs out, crossing them, she still had her heels on. She rolled on her side and rested her head on her hand. John stood awkwardly as Sherlock picked up a card next to a pile of roses.

"So what can I do for you?" She asked as she picked up a glass filled with amber liquid.

Sherlock humed "I see my brother sent these, no doubt to ease my vist." She scoffed and John was so lost.

"Please, I _always_ enjoy your visit. Still pissed though. The least you could have done was introduce me to her. What was her name again? Janine was it?" Sherlock hummed as he eyed the roses distractedly.

Ophelia turned her attention to John. "Congratulations on the marriage. Can you pass me that black box up there?" She pointed to a small black box on top of the wardrobe. John reached up and grabbed it, knocking over the silk clothes under it. They were lingere. Ophelia tried not to laugh at his face she really did. He bashfully handed her the box and found it difficult to look her in the face. SOemhow this was more awkward than dealing with Irene.

"How do you know my name? And that I got married?" He asked. Was she able to deduce like Sherlock? He hoped not. She smiled at him and removed a cigarete and a lighter.

"Pillow talk." She said lighting a cigarete. John met her gaze, perplexed. Who would she know that would know him?

John's mouth dropped again and turned to Sherlock. His friend looked over his shoulder.

"Oh please, John. It was not pillow talk."

"Might has well have been." Ophelia pipped up.

"Ophelia, shut up, you are going to give John a stroke." Ophelia rolled her eyes. Sherlock stripped off his jacket and walked over to the day bed. HE picked up the girl's legs and threw them off the day bed and took their place. She rolled her eyes and put her feet on his lap.

"AM I missing something?" John asked. Ophelia looked at Sherlock. "Did you not tell him about me? I'm offened." She took another drag and looked to John.

"I stole his innoscence." She said proudly. John was a bit at a loss and didn't quite register her words. "DO sit." She motioned to one of the lounging chairs. He sat. She could tell he was still a bit confused. She rolled her eyes.

"Please. Sherlock needed sex pointers and I helped him out. He needed to get close to Janine. I taught him. And I must say, I think I am an excellent teacher. Much better than Irene." She said.

"Hardly. Had Irene been permitted into the country I probably would have called her first." Ophelia kicked Sherlock in the ribs, hard.

"That's not true and you know it. Besides, you have been screwing me longer than you have known John. It's obvious you trust me more." John was so bewildered.

"John, Sherlock and I met in Uni. You know how hormones are at that age. Even the great Sherlock Holmes is only human. I was at a party and somehow Sherlock had gotten dragged there. Moran's doing no doubt. Still hate him by the way." She said to Sherlock. Sherlock picked up a glass of the alcohol and sipped it. He was oddly silent.

"He had managed to get roofied, the poor boy. Me being the saint I am, prevented what was sure to be a marvelous one-night stand. My small flat was nearby so I kidnapped the detective and took him home. We were chemistry partners at the time. I needed his brain to help me pass that class. Damn professor had it out for me and I needed Sherlock to help me prove I was right." She paused and took another drag. Exhaling she continued with a laugh. "You should have seen him when he woke up." Sherlock used a pillow to cover her face. It startled the other two in the room.

"No need to continue. I will finish this ridiculous tale. John, afterwards we had grown quite comfortable with each other. Comfortable enough to know the most intimate details about each other. Our trust grew. You know how I find most things not related to cases dull and tedious. But I am only human. When the problem arose, I found a solution. The solution was Ophelia." John was shocked at his frined being so open. Ophelia knocked away the pillow.

"Don't be so dramatic, we shag, we give each other information. Nothing special."

"Don't be so surprised john. I am only human."

"SO sHerlock. How was she? I want details!" She stuck her legs under her and turned to face Sherlock.

Sherlock Jumped up. "We are not discussing this."

"Please, tell me you at least did the tongue thing I taught you." She whined. Sherlock's silence answered the question.

"You didn't. Oh Sherlock" She whined. "You are such an arse!" She stood on the couch and threw the pillow at his face. "That was the least you could have done since you played her!"

"Look, we are here-"

"Oh now you ask!" She sighed. "The girls are being sold to a huge France prostitution ring." She wrote down a few names. "These people are the ones working for me, they will help you bust the gang. Call Mycroft for jurisdiction issues." She handed over the note.

"It was good to meet you John. Sherlock, pleasure as always." She turned and went to her beauty stand before sitting and unbraiding her hair. John turned to leave but stopped to watch the next interaction.

Sherlock walked over behind her and reached over her shoulder to grab his coat and scarf. He bent down and kissed her cheek. He couldn't quite make out what Sherlock breathed into her ear but he saw the blush creeping over the girl's face that Sherlock did not. No his friend was heading his way.

"Sherlock. It has been a while, my door is still open…..And I am glad your exile wasn't too long."

"Stay out of trouble, Ophelia."

The next time John met Ophelia, the mood was quite different.

It was late and John was at the flat with Sherlock, they had just ended a case and Mary was going to meet the two at the flat. There was plans for an evening at Angelo's.

These plans were interrupted when Ophelia stormed into the flat, covered from head to toe in blood.


	2. Chapter 2 shoot to bluff

Woah, so this got a better response than I thought it would so looks like I will be continuing for a bit. I just wanted a strong, confident woman to be paired with Sherlock. And I have her patent leather red and black shoes that I gave her. They were the inspiration.

John was sitting in his chair, waiting for Sherlock to finish cleaning up when the door to their flat banged open down stairs. Either Mrs. Hudson was very angry or someone was out for blood. John stood as he heard bare feet thump up the steps. When he aw who was causing a rucus, he paused, taking in the odd sight.

Standing in front of him, covered in blood, was a very cross and slightly injured Ophelia.

"Where. Is. He?" She spat out. John opened his mouth but she cut him off. "John, where is that bastard, I'm going to murder him." She clutched her side. John made a move forward but Ophelia raised a gun at him. "DO not touch me." Sherlock chose this moment to exit his room and join them in the living room. He paused and took in his friend's state. HE furrowed his eyebrows.

"I thought I heard you causing a ruckus, but I did not expect you to be covered in blood." HE stated. Ophelia turned on him, grabbing the nearest thing, and chucked the item as hard as she could at him. He ducked, letting it fly over his head and into the kitchen. He frowned.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, YOU ARE THE BIGGEST ARSEHOLE I HAVE EVER MET! NOT ONLY DO YOU DRAG ME INTO YOUR FUCKING CASES, YOU HAD MANAGED TO ATTRACT VERY HIGH CLASS KILLERS INTO MY LIFE!" She grabbed something else and launched it at him.

""What are you talking about? Calm down and- DO NOT THROW THAT!" John yelled and moved to grab her arm. She froze and looked at what was in her hand. It was a jar of very flammable liquid. If it hit near the stove or one of the Bunsen burners, the flat would be burnt to the ground. She slowly set it down before grabbing a pillow instead. It hit Sherlock square in the face.

"How did we get people after you?" John asked. She just sighed and flopped her arms, exasperated and tired. Sore too.

"Those guys who were taking the girls? You know they are part of an even larger group that no one can touch right? They heard I helped. They know who I am, they don't like me. Frankly, they aren't the best company either."

"Ophelia, you just are unpleasant by nature." Sherlock added as he sat, crossing his legs in his chair. She pinned him with a glare.

"You wouldn't be a ray of sunshine if they strapped you to a chair for 48 hours either." John's mouth dropped open, who the hell was this woman? Sherlock shrugged, apparently this was old news to him.

"Ophelia, what exactly did you do before you worked at the club?" John asked tentatively. sHe shrugged.

"I was kind of an agent for the british government, I helped where the government couldn't. Made quite a few enemies. I had been well hidden until now." She glared at Sherlock again. He shrugged. "Not our problem. You can handle yourself."

Ophelia flared up again. "AREYOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?" She was about to start yelling again when a feminine voice came from the doorway.

"John, what is going on?" Ophelia turned to the voice and everyone was suddenly buzzing in alarm.

Ophelia had raised her gun and held it with both hands, ready to fire at Mary. Mary held her hands at a relaxed surrender, her face neutral but firm. John reached a hand out to the gun and was yelling at Ophelia. Sherlock had moved forward as well, trying to talk to her in a firm tone. Ophelia was too busy yelling at Mary.

"DON'T MOVE OR I WILL BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT!"

"DO NOT TLAK TO MY WIFE LIKE THAT!"

"SHE'S YOUR FUCKING WIFE?"

"Ophelia, you need to calm down!"

"HOW THE FUCK CAN I CALM DOWN WHEN SHE'S HERE? HOW DO I KNOW SHE WON'T SHOOT ME AGAIN?"

"WHAT DO YOU MENA AGAIN?"

"John,-" mary started but Ophelia stopped her.

"SHUT UP!"

They all went on trying to calm down Ophelia, and trying to avoid a shooting when a figure appeared behind Mary. The figure whistled and go the three's attention. Mary dropped her hands.

The three looked at Mycroft. John was neutral.

"Oh, for God's sake."

"SHERLOCK YOU SON OF A BITCH! NOW _HE'S HERE TOO?!" _she turned to her friend and dropped the gun to her side.

"Believe me, I did not request his appearance." SHrlock pinched the bridge of his nose. Mycroft stepped forward and Ophelia straightened up, stepped back and held her gun again.

"One more step and I swear to god-"

"Ms. Ophelia, I assure you I am not here to cause you trouble. I am merely relaying news, and providing a solution to a problem." Mycroft stated.

"What news?" She shifted. Her feet were bleeding and it smarted a bit.

"It seems that you are going to be without a home for a while. I am here to offer services to assist you in getting a new place."

"what the fuck did you do to my apartment." She said as she dropped her gun.

"Someone placed a bomb in your apartment. A burglar set it off. The entire building is gone. I apologize for any inconvenience." Mycroft stated simply and twirled his umbrella. John tensed up, waiting for her to just snap and shoot someone. But what she did next startled him.

Ophelia flopped her hands and fell on her back with a groan. She placed her hand on her face, covering her eyes, the gun was on her stomach. "Are you fucking serious? I give up. I am so done. Go ahead and shoot me now." She mumbled. Mary smiled and shook her head. She moved around Mycroft and too the odd woman on the floor. John reached out to stop his wife, nervous but she just smiled at him.

She leaned over the woman. "If you need a place to stay, I am sure you can have John's old room, it's right upstairs. I have spare clothes you can borrow, until you get new ones." Ophelia peeked out from behind your hands.

"You are too good to me, when you aren't trying to kill me."

"Business is business." Mary said shrugging. Ophelia nodded and smirked. "See you got out ok."

"Who said you could offer up the room?" Sherlock said grumpily and moved forward. He nudged her side with his foot. "Get up you are bleeding on the carpet."

"Sherlock!" John stated accusingly. Ophelia lazily raised her gun.

"I will blow your dick off, you pretentious aresehole." She stated. Mary rolled her eyes.

"Ophelia, please, as tempting as it is, I would appreciate it if you did not shoot my brother." Mycroft said stepping closer. Sherlock smirked, completely confident and unfazed by the gun a few inches from his genitals.

"Oh, please she is clearly bluffing." There was a click and everyone jumped. Sherlock's hips went backwards and he fell to the floor, shock clear as day on his face. Mycroft as well was shocked. John started forward.

"Oi!" He called and came to Mary's side, who took the gun from Ophelia slowly. She opened the cartridge. There were no bullets.

"You had a gun with no bullets?" John asked. Ophelia looked confused.

"Im out?"

"YOU WERE ACTUALLY GOING TO SHOOT HIM?" John roared.

"You weren't bluffing." Sherlock stated. She turned her head.

"I don't bluff, remember?" She stated simply. Her hand shot up to her mouth to cover a cough. She groaned and turned on her side. "There, no more blood on your floor."

"WE should have a look at that." John offered. Ophelia nodded. She was tired. And she was safe.

"Mycroft I am still pissed at you." She said and he chuckled. "I expect nothing less. Give them hell for me, would you?" He asked and turned to leave.

"Always do."

Mary sat on the floor slowly. Sherlock got up and went to fetch the med kit. John hd no idea where it was.

"SO you are actually married?" Ophelia asked Mary. She nodded.

"I am pregnant, too." Ophelia's eyes widdend and she sat up, flinching.

"You. Pregnant?" She asked. Mary smiled and nodded. Ophelia grinned and bounced in her seat and laughed, pulling Mary in for a hug.

"Oh my god, congratulations! I am so happy for you! I told you, you could get out. First you didn't believe me, now look at you! Married and starting a family." Ophelia smiled warmly.

"Yes. I see you have started a new life as well, not so family oriented though." Mary nudged the woman playfully. Ophelia shrugged and the men came back.

"Where are you injured?" John asked. Ophelia shrugged and Sherlock sat in his chair.

"Shot in the side, just grazed me. Glass in my feet. Bruised just about everywhere. Nothing serious." John shook his head. "Let's look at the gunshot wound first."

Ophelia shrugged, she really liked to shrug, and with out a word, pulled her shirt smoothly over her head, sitting in a black bra and her black pencil skirt.

"uh, ok then." John muttered, taken aback by her casual indifference to sitting shirtless in a room with two men. HE went to clean up her wound. HE had her lie on her side so she was once again facing Sherlock.

"So, there was something about a spare room."

Ophelia was in the shower. After John patched her up, she insisted she showered. She did have other people's blood on her. She had marched into Sherlock's room and grabbed a few things, like it was her own room before storming into the shower.

She had been storming everywhere lately. This was a tough week. She thought she was done with all the fighting and running. Nope.

sHe sighed. She used to be a very happy person, but lately she was tired. She needed sleep.

After her very long and warm shower, she dried off and threw on the had grabbed a pair of Sherlock's clean boxers and his sweat pants. sHe also nicked his favorite purple shirt.

She quietly padded out into the living room. John had left for takeout and Mary and Sherlock were sitting, sipping tea. Mary smiled at Ophelia when she walked back in. She settled on the couch next to her old friend and Sherlock eyed the two.

He wasn't sure how he felt about her being in his flat. He had been to her place on many occasions but hse had never ever been where he lived. How did she find him? Thinking on what she used to do, it wasn't hard.

Part of him was glad to have her back in his life, even if temporary, but another part was anxious and uncomfortable. He tended to get too attached and then she would disappear for a bit. It drove him crazy. Each time she left, it broke what ever friendship and trust she had built up with him. Whenever she stormed back into his life, she built it back up stronger each time.

And each time it was more and more painful for her to leave.

Damn her and the sentiment.


End file.
